Malum Somnium
by Lirenel
Summary: *Challenge 19: Night* After returning from Narnia a second time, Peter is struck by nightmares of how things could have been. Movieverse. Any warnings can be found on my profile.
1. Cogitare

**Title: **Malum Somnium**  
Disclaimer:** I do not own the Chronicles of Narnia and receive no monetary gain from this story.**  
Note: **Answer to challenge 19: Night. This fic has been giving me nothing but trouble. I literally started writing it almost exactly a year ago, soon after the Prince Caspian movie came out. It took me this long to finish it. Yes, it is a story about Peter having nightmares, a theme that has been almost done to death, but I have been encouraged to post this anyway. I hope that it is different enough from the others to be fun to read. I did focus a bit on the structure and POVs to try and make it more original. I hope it works out.**  
Warning:** For vivid nightmares of death and battle.

COGITARE

* * *

_The gate is down. Peter can only stare at it in horror, stare at the soldiers, _his_ soldiers, trapped behind it and falling one by one to the cruel bolts of the Telmarines. How has this happened, how! Guilt tears at the High King's heart as the soldiers yell, some trying to get through the impassable gate, others standing stoically and waiting for the end to come. _

_Time seems to slow, and Peter is hardly aware of Susan and the others yelling for him to cross the bridge, of the trapped soldiers shouting at him to leave, save himself. How can he save himself when his people are trapped? He is a king: first in every desperate attack, last in every desperate retreat. He should be back there, fighting and dying alongside his soldiers!_

_Those same soldiers who are now pleading with Peter to go. His heart breaking, he nearly does as they ask when his world shatters. A voice, a horribly familiar, dearly loved voice breaks through from behind the trapped warriors. "Peter? What in the name of the Lion is he doing?" A small body pushes through beside Suncloud the centaur, grasping the iron bars of the gate. Dark eyes glare at the High King. "Peter! Get across the bridge, now! Go!"_

_Peter can't tell if his heart is stopped or beating so fast as to make it seem so. "Edmund!" he screams, his whole being focused on his little brother, trapped and without hope of escape. No, this couldn't be happening. Not Edmund, not his brother! _

_Edmund's eyes catch his, the ghost of fear passing over them, but also full of resignation and the fiery determination that always filled them during battle. "Go, Peter," Edmund whispers, but Peter can still hear him over the cries of the dying and the shouts of the soldiers behind him. With those last words, Edmund turns his back to his brother and draws his sword. "For Aslan!" he cries; and as Peter turns away and jumps his horse over the lifting drawbridge he can hear his brother leading a final, desperate charge against the Telmarines._

_As the bridge cuts off the last sight of the courtyard, the sounds are already fading away and Peter knows that the trapped soldiers are all dead. Edmund is dead. His brother, his baby brother is dead. And it is all his fault._

_.  
_

Peter's eyes flew open, at first not taking in his surroundings, his mind still stuck on the terrible image of his brother…He bolted upright, his body tangling in the sheets of his bed causing him to fall onto the hard, cold floor. _Edmund, where's Edmund?_ His thoughts raced, frantic with worry when he didn't see his brother in their room, the bed across from him empty. Peter desperately tried to untangle himself, knocking over a pile of books by his bed in the process. He heard several groans and a pillow flew through the air, hitting him on the head.

Puzzled, he picked up the pillow, forcing himself to take deep breaths to steady himself. Peter lifted his head and remembered that he was not in the bedroom he and Edmund shared in Finchley, he was not in his chamber in Cair Paravel, and he most certainly was not in the small cave they had slept in at Aslan's How. He was at school, and apparently he was bothering his roommates by making too much noise too early in the morning. The empty bed that had frightened him so much didn't belong to Edmund; it had been Jameson's before he had left school to help his mother, after his father was reported killed in action.

Even knowing that Edmund was sleeping in the dormitory of his own form two stories below could not calm Peter's racing heart. He wanted to see his brother, hear his breathing, _know_ that Edmund was alive and not riddled with Telmarine bolts. Peter sighed, realizing that he was too agitated to fall asleep again. After returning the pillow to its owner with a quiet apology, he got back into bed and pulled out his torch from the bedside table. Grabbing one of his schoolbooks, Peter settled in, absently flipping the pages as he tried to keep his mind from his nightmare.

It didn't really work. The image of his brother, trapped behind the gate, drifted in front of his eyes. Guilt pounded at Peter's heart, guilt for the Narnians who had died, guilt for nearly causing the deaths of his brother and sister in that awful raid. And this was only one of the nightmares that plagued him. How many nights had he revisited the past in his sleep, fate cruelly changing to deprive Peter of those he loved most in two worlds? Sometimes it was Lucy, sometimes Susan, most often Edmund, for his brother was the one who almost always followed Peter into danger without a second thought.

Peter knew he was losing much needed sleep. He did not need a mirror to know that there were dark circles perpetually under his eyes, nor a teacher's reprimand to give notice that he was falling asleep in class. But the nightmares never stopped, and he couldn't sleep without seeing for himself whether Edmund was alive or dead. So Peter read his book and prayed for morning to come quickly.

One bed over, Henry Merton, prefect of 5th form, sighed with relief. _At least Pevensie remembered his promise from last term. _Though Henry had considered himself rather good friends with Peter ever since they were little, he barely recognized his friend anymore. The autumn before, after the summer evacuations, Pevensie had returned to school a completely different person. He looked lost, as if he didn't even belong in his own body. He barely spoke to his friends, preferring the company of the younger brother whom Henry had been fairly certain that Peter had hated just a few months before.

And then there were the nightmares. Henry had never known Pevensie to have nightmares, but that autumn they afflicted him with a vengeance. How many times had the dorm been awoken by heart-rending screams and moans? Pevensie never told anyone what they were about, no matter how much Henry asked, but he could guess that they had to do with his siblings. This Henry surmised by the fact that when Pevensie had nightmares but _didn't_ wake everyone up with his screams, the blond-haired boy somehow managed to sneak out of the room, down two floors, and into his brother's room without being noticed by anyone until Robert Thomsen, the prefect for the younger form, found him sleeping on the floor the next morning.

_Not_ thought Henry wryly _that I didn't have my share of finding _Edmund_ on the end of Pevensie's bed._ It was a tense term, both Henry and Thomsen worrying that the two Pevensies would be caught by a teacher, which would get the prefects themselves in trouble. Finally they had confronted the brothers and insisted that they stop sneaking out of the rooms. The older Pevensie looked ready to argue, but the younger one had stopped him with a gentle touch and promised the prefects that there would be no more trouble.

At first the nightmares had gotten worse, but as the year progressed Henry noticed that Pevensie seemed plagued by them less and less. But again this autumn…Henry grimaced into the dark. More dreams and these seemed to come more often and affected Pevensie even worse. Now the blond was barely getting any sleep, weighed down by some unknown ghost. He held back a sigh as he heard Pevensie turn the pages of his book. This really couldn't go on much longer.

* * *

cogitare: to turn over in the mind, to reflect, to plan


	2. Exsequi

EXSEQUI

* * *

_Peter paces the cliff overlooking the soon-to-be battle plain. The Telmarine camp lies just beyond sight, hidden by the silent trees. It has been too long. Too long since Peter had sent his brother to the Telmarine camp with only Glenstorm and Wimbleweather for protection. From the look on Caspian's face when the decision to send them had been made, Peter knows he has taken a risk. Miraz has a sense of honor…but only when it suits him._

"_King Peter," Caspian's voice breaks through his thoughts and the High King turns to the young man who stands next to him. The future king of Narnia is looking through a scope, lens trained on the trees. "There is movement near the camp."_

_This is what they have been waiting for: the return of their heralds with Miraz's answer to the challenge for single combat in place of pitched battle. Peter takes the proffered glass and looks out across the field. He frowns. There is more movement then there should be for just Edmund's return, even with a giant. Peter's stomach sinks as he realizes what he is seeing. Not the return of the heralds: it is the marshalling of the Telmarine army._

_A sudden terror seizes Peter as he desperately searches the emerging lines of Telmarines. Where are Edmund and the other heralds? Surely they have escaped. They _have _to escape; Edmund has to escape and return to the How and fight by Peter's side, victorious together as so many times before. Edmund has to escape and…be alive. _

_The scope almost does not catch it, but the flash of red amongst a sea of blue captures Peter's eye. He nearly stops breathing as he focuses on the three figures in front of the Telmarine army. Miraz rides forward, clad in shining gold armor, his features hidden behind a cruel mask. And in front of Miraz…Peter's throat tightens. A Telmarine soldier pushes a bound and proudly defiant Edmund before him. The young Narnian stands tall, more noble with his recently battered face than Miraz in all his gold. _

"_No," Peter whispers, his hands tightening around the scope as the Telmarine army stops at Miraz's command, the soldier in front of the Usurper forcing Edmund to his knees in full view of those at the How. Though only Peter has a glass, Caspian and the others who have come to stand beside the High King can just make out the figures in the distance, can understand the terrible, inevitable future._

_Peter faintly hears Susan ordering Lucy back inside, but it does not matter to him. Not while he is seeing his brother bend his head towards the How in recognition and in duty, as if knowing his High King is watching. There is no fear on Edmund's face, just a calm acceptance. His mouth moves, and Peter knows that Edmund is reciting the Litany of the Lion, putting his fate in the paws of the King above all Kings and trusting in His grace. _

_Peter finds himself mouthing the words along with his brother as the Telmarine soldier unsheathes his sword. Then, before Peter can even blink, his brother's body slumps to the ground and the Telmarine is lifting the head by its familiar, dark hair. Peter hears Susan sobbing and he hears screaming. It is only when Caspian pulls him back from the ledge that Peter realizes that the screams are coming from his own throat. _

_.  
_

Over the past year, Henry Merton and Robert Thomsen, though in two different forms, had bonded somewhat over dealing with the Pevensie brothers. Henry, of course, had to deal with the elder waking up with bone-chilling screams. Thomsen, though, insisted that he had it worse, because the younger Pevensie - dark, silent Edmund - had inexplicably gained a propensity for sleepwalking. The boys in his dormitory had learned the hard way not to try to wake Edmund up, after he nearly broke Morris's neck with his bare hands before fully waking. Henry had shivered when Thomsen had related that story, for it only increased the uneasiness he felt around Edmund.

Having known the Pevensies for years, Henry used to view the dark-haired boy as an annoying pest, always up to no good and picking on smaller children. Then came that strange autumn where Peter returned to school in a daze that soon turned into a sullenness that seemed so at odds with Pevensie's character. And Edmund, annoying little Edmund, had returned with an air of quiet wisdom and eyes that knew too much, saw too much. If Peter had changed completely, Edmund had changed _radically_, now someone who would fight to protect his brother and others from the bullies and tormenters who used to be his friends. Henry had seen him hold his own against a boy twice his size, and, together, the two Pevensies had been able to beat anyone they went up against. Peter, Henry could understand being a fighter, and a good one at that. Edmund, to put it frankly, just scared him.

Which was why Henry was feeling somewhat nervous as he stood on the school green, eyes searching for the younger Pevensie boy. He spotted the boy walking towards the dormitory, his posture straight and proud, and his eyes ever watchful of his surroundings. Steeling himself, Henry darted over, calling Edmund's name. The younger Pevensie stopped in his tracks, frowning as Henry pulled up beside him. "Merton?"

Henry took a deep breath. "I need to talk to you. About Peven…about your brother."

Dark eyes narrowed and Henry forced himself not to step backwards, reminded himself that he was a full three years older than Edmund and should not be intimidated. Edmund shifted so that he was fully facing Henry. "What's wrong?"

Henry shifted his feet. "He's been having those nightmares again."

A wave of sadness passed over Edmund's face, but he quickly schooled his features. "I'm not really surprised he's been having some nightmares now."

As usual, Henry noted that Edmund remained vague about what exactly caused the nightmares. "It's worse, though. Worse than last autumn, even. He's been waking up nearly every night. And before, he only woke up screaming some of the time; now we can basically expect to be woken up." There was no change in Edmund's expression, so he continued to expand on his worry. "He's not getting any sleep either. He wakes up in the middle of the night and then just reads or stands by the window until morning. Edmund…" There, a flicker of surprise at Henry using his given name so seriously. "I think he's making himself sick. He _will_ make himself sick if this keeps up. And he won't listen to me or tell me what's wrong, won't talk to _anyone_, so I figured it was best just to tell you and hope you can knock some sense into him."

Finished with his little speech, Henry stood back, observing Edmund's reaction. The boy's dark eyes were flashing with something, some anger or worry or fear. When Henry saw him purse his lips tightly together, he knew he had gotten through. Edmund straightened his shoulders. "Thank you, Merton, for bringing this to my attention. Don't worry, I'll look after Peter." Turning, the younger boy walked away, and Henry found himself feeling rather sorry for Pevensie, who would very soon be dealing with a very displeased little brother.

Edmund stormed away, glowering at anyone in his path. He _knew_ something was wrong with Peter, he _knew it_, but the idiot had brushed off his concern and insisted he was alright. _Last time I listen to him. I should know better by now than to take Peter's word that he's doing fine._ Of course, Edmund himself had been sleepwalking far more than usual, but the Just King was conveniently ignoring his own problems as he continued to mentally yell at his brother.

The silent berating continued until Edmund came to the school rugby pitch where the team was holding a practice game. He watched, glowering, as his brother ran with the ball, heading down field to attempt to score a try. Unfortunately, the rather burly player following Peter managed to bring him down in a rough tackle. Edmund's frown deepened as Peter remained on the ground, despite having released the ball. Seeing the same, the coach stopped the play and jogged onto the pitch toward his downed player.

It was no surprise to anyone that Edmund beat him there, already checking Peter for injuries before the coach was halfway down the field. "Shove off, Ed," mumbled Peter groggily, swatting at Edmund's hands.

Edmund ignored him, not knowing if he should be relieved that he had not found any broken bones to explain the lack of movement. "Peter, just tell me what's wrong."

"Head hurts. And tired." Peter scowled into the grass, not even turning to look at his brother who was now poking his head, searching for bruises or bumps. "Just give me a moment."

Feeling Peter's forehead, Edmund sighed. He was burning up. "No moments. I'm taking you to the nurse."

"Fever?"

Edmund turned, and looked up at the coach. Mr. Henson was a rather kind, if gruff, man, who understood well that the Pevensie boys took care of each other and there wasn't any use trying to get in their way. Edmund appreciated that about the man. "Yes, sir. Fever and exhaustion and probably a cold as well." Mr. Henson knew better, from previous experience, than to offer to take the older Pevensie to the nurse. Instead, he helped Edmund get Peter to his feet and sent them on their way before starting up the practice again.

Neither Pevensie spoke on the way to the infirmary: Peter was feeling too awful, and Edmund knew that Peter's head would not appreciate a lot of talking. When they reached the infirmary, Edmund grimaced. He did not know this nurse, an older, stern-looking woman, and he knew he would likely have to fight to keep her from throwing him out while she examined Peter. And he certainly was not going to leave his sick brother by himself.

As expected, the nurse, Mrs. Willows, was not happy to have a student disobey her order to leave. She only gave in to Edmund's stubbornness when it became clear that she would not be able to examine her patient unless she relented. Edmund's victory was short-lived, however. Mrs. Willows did a basic, cursory examination and then dosed Peter with a sedative that knocked him straight out, before Edmund could even move to stop her.

Oh, he was going to have words with her about that! Lucy would have been appalled that the nurse had not done a more thorough examination, but Edmund was more irate that she gave Peter a _sedative_, without even bothering to ask if he wanted one! While Edmund was sure Peter could use the sleep, he also knew that Peter's nightmares were usually only strengthened by the use of tranquilizing drugs; and Peter certainly did not need that right now, if Merton's concerns were even close to valid. Edmund only hoped that, if the nightmares started, he would be able to wake his older brother.

* * *

exsequi: to execute, to carry out, to suffer, to endure


	3. Eripere

ERIPERE

* * *

_Despite the wrath he had poured out on Caspian not an hour before, Peter does not let that stop him from coming to the prince's aid. His heart beats loudly as he realizes that Caspian is entranced by, impossibly, an image of the White Witch. His mind automatically turns to his brother who runs into the Stone Table room by his side, but there is little time to contemplate Edmund's feelings at seeing the Witch, with danger so imminent. Yelling "Stop!" Peter rushes forward, intent on ridding Narnia of the White Witch yet again, before she can hurt anyone else as she had him and his siblings so many years before._

_Peter pushes Caspian out of the circle of ice, ordering the Witch to keep away from the young Telmarine and raising his sword to defend them both. His mind flashes to the past, when the Witch came for his brother's blood, when she stabbed Edmund with the very wand that stands before him, stuck in the sacred stone. As then, even now Peter feels his anger boiling, combining toxically with the guilt he still harbors over the disastrous raid. _

_The Witch is only startled for a moment, before an icy smile touches her pale lips. "Peter dear, I missed you." She reaches out to him, seeking a drop of his blood. Despite his knowledge of the Witch's evil, Peter begins losing himself in her cold eyes, losing control over his actions. Despair wells in his soul as she mocks his efforts "You know you can't do this alone." He knows he cannot. He has just proved that with the deaths of all those soldiers. The Witch is terrible and cruel, Peter knows this, but so are the Telmarines. Perhaps…could it be possible for one evil to destroy another?_

_In that moment of doubt, as she reaches her hand towards him, Peter is lost. His sword lowers and, almost against his will, his left hand wipes the wound on his head and stretches the blood towards the Witch. Even as he hears Edmund's shouts of denial, coming from somewhere behind the wall of ice, the two hands touch and Peter is blinded by a flash of blue light. _

_His sight clears and there, standing tall before him, is the Witch, once more bearing her wand and the sword she has stolen from a now stone Caspian. Still transfixed, Peter watches in horror as Edmund attacks her. Though a better swordsman than he had been at the Battle of Beruna, the Just King is still no match for the Witch's evil power and she disarms him after only a brief battle. Peter tries to rush to his brother's rescue, but his feet refuse to obey him. He hears Lucy behind him, screaming as Trumpkin drags her away from the room in search of help, but still he cannot move._

_Edmund is now unarmed and helpless before the risen Witch, but there is defiance and anger in his glare. "You may kill me here, Jadis, but Aslan will defeat you. You will never win."_

_The Witch laughs. "Aslan! Aslan has abandoned you. Narnia is mine once more, and my winter will have no end!" Seeing that her triumphant words did nothing to change Edmund's bold faith, the Witch glares briefly before giving Edmund a chilling smile. "And I do not think, my dear Edmund, that I will sully my hands with your blood again." She moves so that she is standing right behind Peter. He can feel her cold hands stroke his cheek, like ice running down his skin. Peter barely hears Edmund desperately ordering her away from him, as the High King tries in vain to flee from her grasp. "No, I think I will have my new servant kill you for me."_

_With those words, Peter knows his face has lost all color. He tries to yell as his feet move forward against his will, but no sound emerges. His eyes fix on his unarmed brother, whose own shocked comprehension mirrors Peter's. The High King moves closer as Edmund yells his name, trying to wake Peter from the enchantment. It is no use. Peter continues shouting silently, even as he grabs Edmund and pushes him roughly against one of the stone pillars, holding him there with his left hand. _

_The worst part is that Edmund does not struggle, though he continues to plead with Peter to fight the Witch. Peter knows that if Edmund fights back, there is a chance that the younger king could wrest control of Rhindon. But Edmund will not risk hurting Peter, as would be likely in any fight between the two. And perhaps he believes, with the innocent faith he has in his brother, that Peter will stop before the final blow. So the Just King only stands, eyes filled with desperation as he tries to say something, anything that might break the spell and free the High King of Narnia. _

_No words can help Peter now, though. Fighting against the enchantment with all the strength left in his mind and body, still he cannot escape, and his silent shouts turn to screams and sobs as he drives his sword through his brother's body. He feels Rhindon's blade slide through flesh and muscle and internal organs before lodging in Edmund's spine. Blood covers his hand, Edmund's blood, _his brother'sblood_ and he wants to be sick but all he can do is look into Edmund's dark gaze, eyes that are filled with agony of both body and soul. "Peter," he hears Edmund whisper, as if not believing that his beloved brother had just sliced into his gut like he was nothing more than a fish caught for dinner._

_Then Edmund's eyes are filled with nothing because all that made Edmund, his fiery soul, wise mind, loyal heart, is gone._

_Peter's silent screams turn inhuman, but the Witch does not allow him to move a single finger from the sword that remains fixed in his brother's body. They stay there in a bloody tableau for one long, silent moment before Peter hears the Witch come up behind him. Staring at Edmund's motionless body, the pale face frozen in heartbreaking bewilderment, Peter can only wish for her to put him out of this torture of his own making._

_Even that one comfort is denied Peter, the hope that perhaps in death he can follow Edmund to Aslan's country. He realizes the Witch's utter cruelty as he feels his own body turn to grey, hard stone, watches as the stone spreads to Edmund's corpse. The Witch has her revenge: one king dead, the other forced to spend eternity killing his beloved brother. Smiling, she turns away from the two statues, to go and claim her kingdom._

_Peter just screams. _

_.  
_

Edmund wanted to bang his head against the wall in frustration. This Mrs. Willows was _still_ trying to throw him out, two hours after Peter had been drugged to sleep. Of course, Edmund was not about to go anywhere; and so he and the nurse quietly but fiercely waged a battle of words some few feet away from Peter's bed. Edmund was fairly certain he was winning, when suddenly winning the argument became irrelevant as they were interrupted by the spine-chilling, tortured scream that tore from Peter's throat.

Within seconds, Edmund was at his brother's side, seizing his hand tightly to try and wake him up with the sudden movement. It did no good as Peter began thrashing in his sleep, still screaming that terrifying cry. Edmund desperately tried to hold down Peter's body to keep him from hurting himself, all the while begging him to wake up.

The screaming stopped, but the silence was filled by Peter's distressed jerks, as if he was trying to escape some terrible enemy. Edmund heard Mrs. Willows start shakily walking toward them, but the sound of footsteps was overshadowed by another scream, more raw and animalistic than before. Edmund sat on the bed, holding Peter tight against his chest and trying to ignore the piercing noise that threatened to deafen him. "Peter. Wake up, Peter, it's just a dream. Wake up," he begged as the agonized screaming continued. "Peter, _wake up!_"

The screaming tapered off as Peter began gasping for air, his breaths sounding more like sobs. The tension in Edmund's shoulders lessoned when Peter's eyes flew open; but Edmund quickly tightened his hold as Peter struggled in his arms, not really seeing or understanding his younger brother's presence. "Calm down, Peter, it's me. It's me, stop moving. It was a dream. You're alright, you're with me." Edmund tried to keep his words calm and soothing. "You're alright, I'm here, I'm alright."

Peter's struggles ceased, though his body still trembled uncontrollably. "Ed?" he whispered, voice hoarse from screaming and filled with fear.

Edmund shifted so that he could put his head near Peter's ear, let his brother feel his words. "I'm here," he spoke softly, knowing almost instinctively that Peter needed to know he, Edmund, was alive and well. "You had a nightmare. It was _just_ a nightmare. We're all alright: Lucy, Susan, you, me, we're alright."

Now the shaking was from Peter trying to hold back tears as he turned and buried his face against Edmund's chest, as though he was the younger and Edmund the elder brother, the parent. "Don't leave me, please don't…"

"I'm not going anywhere." Edmund answered the terrified whispers with a firm voice. Then he let Peter cry out his fears, not caring how uncomfortable his position was, caring only for the brother who had seen too much in their long-short lives. Edmund was not sure how long it took, but Peter finally settled down and fell asleep again, his skin still hot with fever.

Edmund gently stroked Peter's sweat-soaked hair, before looking up and glaring at an ashen-faced Mrs. Willows. "No more sedatives," he declared, his voice low and dangerous.

The nurse looked at the boys before her, remembered the screams that she had only ever heard before on the battle-front, and nodded shakily. "No more sedatives.

Peter's fever didn't break until the next morning. When he woke again from a sleep filled with vague terrors and shadows, the first thing he knew was that he still lay in his brother's arms. They were loose, as Edmund was deeply asleep, but they were there. _Edmund_ was there and, frankly, that was all that mattered to Peter at the moment.

The nurse kept him in the infirmary for another day and, surprisingly, she allowed Edmund to stay with him; Peter wondered what exactly Edmund had done to the poor woman, since she would not look either of them directly in the eye. Honestly, though, he almost wished she would keep him longer; being released meant that the brothers would be separated again, forced to their individual dorm rooms. But Peter's fever was gone and he was feeling strong enough that there was no reason for him to remain in the infirmary.

Therefore, Peter spent that night in his dorm room, thrashing from nightmares, waking in a cold sweat without the comfort of having his brother nearby. The same thing happened for the next three nights; it didn't matter that he saw Edmund as soon as he possibly could the next morning, the dreams still tormented him in a way they never did when he could even unconsciously sense his brother's presence in sleep. Peter knew Edmund was keeping a sharper eye on his health during the day, and wasn't very happy at what he saw, but the High King was helpless to do anything: he could not control his nightmares.

So Peter spent his days working and his nights screaming, and nothing seemed to change. The fourth day after his release from the infirmary, however, was a different story. Coming back from his history class, Peter walked into his dorm room and dropped his books by his bed. Before he could flop down on the bed himself and start his readings, his eyes settled on the bed next to his. Though stripped bare since Jameson left, now it was made up again. A pile of jumbled and wrinkled clothes lay on the bed, along with half a pair of black wellies.

A rustling sound caught his ears, and Peter turned to see Merton reading on his own bed. "'lo Pevensie," was all he said, eyes on his book.

Peter's brow furrowed. "Is Jameson coming back?"

"Nope." Annoyingly, Merton still didn't even glance up. Though, granted, Conan Doyle was always an interesting read.

Before Peter could ask anything else, the door slammed open and the High King whirled around to see a familiar, dark-haired boy staggering in, carrying a heavy box of books. He scowled at the two boys already in the room. "A little help here?"

Peter's mouth dropped open. "Ed?"

The younger boy opened his mouth to speak, but he also took a wrong step at the wrong time and began toppling over. Fortunately, Peter regained his senses quick enough to catch his little brother before he, or the books, hit the floor. "Thanks, Pete."

Peter automatically helped Edmund carry the box across the room, wherefore the younger boy unceremoniously dumped them onto Jameson's old bed. Wincing, as usual, over Edmund's treatment of the books, Peter shook his head. "Ed, what are you doing?"

Edmund rolled his eyes. "What does it look like? I'm moving in."

"But…how?"

He was answered not by Edmund, but by Merton, who finally looked up from _The Empty House_. "Apparently the Head isn't happy when the son of one of the school's largest financial contributors is nearly gutted when stupidly trying to wake a sleep-walking student who, apparently, routinely carries a knife on him at all times."

Peter's mouth dropped open a second time and his eyes widened. "Edmund!"

The younger king had the grace to look embarrassed. "The other boys forgot to warn him about that."

"How in the world were you not thrown out?" It was no secret that the headmaster would not hesitate to put continuing financial support before keeping a boy on partial scholarship in the school.

Though Merton had looked uncomfortable when relating the sleep-walking incident, this part seemed to amuse him. "According to my sources," which meant Thomsen, "Nurse Willows spoke up on his behalf, saying he had been upset by your illness; and convinced the Head that the problem would be solved by moving him to our room since you, as his brother, knew how to keep him from sleepwalking and thus would protect us helpless students."

There was silence as Peter processed that. He turned slowly to his brother. "Ed…."

The younger boy raised an eyebrow. "What?" he asked, as if challenging Peter to question him further; about why he had been sleepwalking, why he was carrying a knife while he slept. Why Mrs. Willows had fought for him despite the fact that Edmund made the woman nervous with just his presence.

Of course, Peter already knew the answer to all those questions: simply, because he was Edmund. So the High King just sighed. "Fold your clothes and put your books away _nicely. _Honestly, Susan would _kill_ you if she saw how you were treating them." Edmund smiled and went to do as he was told. Peter rolled his eyes at Edmund's version of 'fold' and 'nicely', and flopped on his bed, picking up his biology book.

The sounds of Edmund struggling to get his shirts folded, complete with muttered curses, was comforting. Despite the noise, or perhaps because of it, Peter's eyes began drifting shut, not able to pay attention to Mendel's Law of Independent Assortment. Soon enough, he was fast asleep.

.

_The Telmarines are everywhere, coming from every side. This is their last stand, their last chance to survive. Praying for Aslan to arrive, praying that Lucy has found him, Peter fights with everything he has left after that grueling duel. He, Edmund, and Caspian fight in a circle around Susan, allowing the Gentle Queen to use her bow to fuller effect. It will not last long, he knows, for soon the Telmarines will overwhelm them all._

_He feels helpless as he glances over at his brother. Edmund is fighting with two swords now, a whirlwind of steel cutting through Telmarine ranks. Fighting, fighting…falling. Peter watches in horror as Edmund falters in his movements, disarmed by the faceless enemy. It is a moment that lasts seconds and hours at the same time as the younger king falls beneath Telmarine steel with a surprised, gargled cry._

_Peter shouts in horror, but then frowns in confusion. Edmund is gone, dead at Telmarine hands, but Peter can still hear him breathing. Can still feel his presence, as if he is right by him and not trampled under armored boots. He hears a loud scrapping, feels something nudge his shoulder and he turns, startled to see Edmund, alive and whole, smiling at him. The incongruity of it shakes the world, and the armies, Narnian and Telmarine, fade into mist. _

_.  
_

Peter blinks, eyes groggy. He was only half-awake, but aware enough to look over to his side. The light from the window was lower, and Edmund was there, sitting on Jameson's – no _his _– bed and reading a book by lamplight. The bed was closer than Peter remembered and he realized that his brother must have moved it– the sound he had heard in his dream.

As if feeling Peter's eyes on him, Edmund looked up from his book. He smiled at the older boy. "Go back to sleep, Peter. I'll wake you for supper in an hour."

Peter returned the smile before burying his face in his pillow, heart feeling lighter despite the nightmare. Edmund was there. And he would always be there.

So Peter slept.

* * *

eripere: to snatch away, to rescue


End file.
